


Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

by pinesboi



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Caleb leaving, Gore, PTSD, Torture, basically caleb sonic runs away from his problems, if i get to the next chapter before ep 49 then, self hatred, spoilers for ep 48, trauma flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 14:20:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17469224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinesboi/pseuds/pinesboi
Summary: Find me at my tumblr: http://pinesboi.tumblr.com/





	Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

 

It’s still early in the morning when Caleb rises. Fog winds itself around his hut, which gives a faint orange glow to the mist around them. The sun hasn’t yet begun to peek over the ridge, and the sky is a vibrant cobalt as it shakes away the sleep of the night. There isn’t much sound, other than a coyote howling somewhere off in the plains and the rest of the group soundly snoring away. It’s been a while since any of them have slept easily, most of all Nott. Of course, she’d pretended to sleep, just to make sure no one worried, but he always saw her get up not too long after and stare into the sky, taking sips from her flask and poking in the mud till she passed out. Caleb always saw, because he didn’t sleep either. But, with Yeza and Luke now on their way to Alfield, even she had found some peace.

He sniffs and takes a look around, taking stock. He already has the note written- he’d scrawled it out on their way back from Nicodranas, after his talk with Beau. Better to have it prepared than to waste time trying to think of the words to say if he was in a rush. He feels for it in his breast pocket, assuring himself of its presence. It’s comforting, in a way.

It takes some doing, but he manages to stand despite the soreness that seems to live under his skin. He winces as the cracks his back makes as he moves, carefully watching the others for signs of them stirring. He waits a moment, even moderating his breath so the sound falls under that of the wind. The sleeping group doesn’t seem to notice, sleeping happily. Jester makes a noise like a question, which sends him whirling to look at her. But, it’s nothing- Sprinkle burrowing farther into her neck to stay warm. He lets out a breath.

Caleb has a list of items to get and a list of items to leave. He really hopes he has time for all of it.

He starts with the beacon. Jester always uses her haversack as a pillow- the downside of them sleeping in a field. Lucky for him though, the main pocket is facing outward and shouldn’t be too difficult to access. It’s a delicate process, involving Caleb relying on his nimble fingers to not cause too much movement. He can remember something Trent said, about hands being the instrument of the mage, but he shakes the voice away as quickly as it appears. Once he’s aware of himself again, he’s holding the metal box with the beacon inside. His customary frown digs into his face as he surveys it.

Not much time to regret anything now. Besides, he _needs_ it. If he can’t get this thing to do what he needs, then there would be no point in even hiding from Trent. He needs it more then they do.

The next item lies next to Fjord, thrown on top of the rest of his gear that he’d shed off for the night. The bag of holding doesn’t have much in it other than a load of manacles, Caleb reasons that they don’t need it too much now that they can use the cart again. He sticks the box inside and slings the strap over his shoulder. Fjord is smiling in his sleep. He stares at him a moment too long. It seems just a bit too hard to move himself away.

Two more things, much easier to handle. First, the note. He leaves it next to Beau. She would probably want to read it first anyway. She was the one he wants to make understand, even though she likely never will. The second is just a small thing- a trinket really. Not worth anything much, not to anyone besides him. He has to stare at it a moment, take it in for the last time before he leaves it. It’s an old figure, carved from cherry wood and cracked down the center. He can remember exactly where he’d gotten it, and exactly who it was. A hero in a story his mother used to tell him, a gallant knight who fought for good. It was the one thing he was able to find in the rubble. He thumbs over the figure, worn smooth like a worry stone. The parchment he leaves with it has another phrase other than the one meant to be read, one that he’d scratched out. The other simply reads: “I’m sorry. For Luke” in his hasty scrawl. He lays it next to Nott. His eyes linger on her, too, for just a moment too long.

Without much further ado, he turns his back to the group and takes a deep breath. He whispers to himself and pulls some ingredients out of his pockets. The haste comes into effect quickly, and it takes him a moment to acclimate to the head rush that normally comes with it. In that second, he knows someone has risen behind him. He has a very good guess who it is. Caleb chances a glance back at him.

Caduceus is sat up with his legs crossed. His shock of pink hair is wild from sleep, but other than that he seems the perfect picture of calm. As always. He raises an eyebrow at him.

“Mr. Caleb. Taking an early morning stroll?” Caleb doesn’t answer, just shakes his head without meeting his eye. “Ah. You are leaving us”

He nods his head. He’s not sure if he tries to say anything that what would come out was the truth. And he really doesn’t have the energy to lie right now, not to Caduceus. He would see right through it anyway.

“I suppose there’s nothing I can say to convince you to stay with us?”

He shakes his head again.

Caduceus sighs. He seems to think for a moment before he stands, making his way over the sleeping bodies of their friends to stand in front of him. He takes something from his bag with him- its round and small, about the size of Caleb’s fist, wrapped up neatly in paper.

“I got the recipe from that book about pastries Jester gave me. I was planning on giving it to you for breakfast, but a road snack will have to do.” He hands it over, a serene smile playing on his lips. “I’ve never made them before, so I’m not sure if it’s the Zemnian way of doing it.”

Caleb shoots him a confused look before unwrapping the item. The noise he lets out is halfway between a laugh and a sob all contained in a breath.

Streusel. Topped with delicate snow-like powdered sugar. It has been a very long time since he’s seen some made with such care. Memories of his mother begin to crop up with the sting in his eye, but he forces them both down.

“Thank you, Caduceus.” He jerks his head to the sleeping mass of bodies. “Take care of them, _ja?_ ”

 “Always.” Caduceus says. He pauses for a moment and gives him a hopeful look. “Any chance I can call in that favor before you leave?”

Caleb glances up from the pastry, “I don’t know what all I can do for you now, my large friend.”

“Don’t go.”

The words hit him like stone. Something in the pit of his stomach, something wild and feral and unchecked begs him to stay. It feels like so long since he’s been on his own with just his thoughts, and the image of going back to _that_ makes his knees get weary. He feels himself sway for a moment,

“I have to. I can’t…” Caleb takes a steadying breath. “I won’t be responsible for Trent killing you all. I just won’t. If that means leaving, so be it.”

Caduceus nods, a tinge of sadness forming around the edges of his eyes. “Well. I suppose that’s it then.” He puts a smile back on his face. “Just know that you’ll always have a home with us. Even if you’re gone a long time, just find us. I look forward to seeing you again. When you’re ready.”

“I won’t be coming back.”

“Like I said. Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Caleb.”

Without a hint of warning, Caleb is swept up in a very large firbolg hug. It takes him by surprise, and for a moment he’s just staring out behind him, immobile in Caduceus’ grasp. After a moment he hugs back. Firbolgs give very good hugs.

Once he’s released, he clears his throat, straightening out his worn road leathers.

“It has been an honor, _Herr Clay.”_ He says, with the utmost sincerity in his voice.

“Likewise, Caleb. Be safe.”

And without another word, he takes off running into the morning, the haste carrying him away fast enough that he barely notices the orange glow flicker and die out as he exits the hut. The sun begins to rise, over so gently on the horizon. A horrible mash of colors begin to appear in the sky- the dark blue remnants of night fading to baby blue and the explosion of pinks and reds and yellows and oranges where the light touches the earth. Caleb doesn’t chance the look back. He chants to himself- a habit from school, he thinks. A chant in Zemnian, one to push back the urge to run back and lay down next to his friends, his first friends in so long, and pretend like nothing had happened.

_You have to fix this. You have to save them._

_You have to fix this. You have to save them._

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at my tumblr: http://pinesboi.tumblr.com/


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